


Tick Tick

by sunsetmondays



Series: Prison!Dream [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ? - Freeform, Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Pandoras Vault, Prison!Dream, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29153772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmondays/pseuds/sunsetmondays
Summary: I put together a little Prison!Dream ficlet for@dreamnapfoundover at Tumblr. This mainly focuses on Dream and his relationship with his clock, with a splash of Sam angst in there. Shhhh I'm 100% not procrastinating writing smut for Daddy Issues don't you look at me like that.Dream is led through death and darkness to the six-by-six confines of his new home. The swords of his cell-block architect and once loyal friend follow closely at his back, catching on fabric just shy of his skin. By action and poesy this is a prison of his own making.
Series: Prison!Dream [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154249
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	Tick Tick

_Tick tick goes the clock,  
by day by night,  
you're all I've got._

_Tick tick the clock shan't lie,_  
yet all I want,  
you shall deny.

~ ~ ~

 _Tick tick goes the clock_ ,

Dream is led through death and darkness to the six-by-six confines of his new home. The swords of his cell-block architect and once loyal friend follow closely at his back, catching on fabric just shy of his skin. By action and poesy this is a prison of his own making. They leave him in silence to the fevered air of his obsidian island. A god to a server; a king to a bird-cage castle. He surveys his boiling moats and lounges upon his obsidian throne. Beyond the bubbling hum of molten rock and mechanical clack of piston rows, he hears a _tick tick tick_ tickle the shell of his ear. Dream dreams of kingdoms, plains, and unbridled power. The clock hangs unheeded upon the wall.

_by day by night,_

Days pass like lazy summers, briefly brightened by Tommy and his whisper of promises he knows he can't keep. ' _I'll come back soon,_ ' he had said. Dream thinks of the false words and laughs: a soft giggle light like the afternoon's touch that turns breathless and wheezing in the thick choking air. ' _Come back_ ,' he thinks, a hoarse scream over the deafening _bubble tick tick silence_. He sinks sweaty and stiff into the tepid water of his basin. His joints groan at the unfamiliar angles but he relishes at the feeling of sweat-salt licked away from his skin. Only Tommy had come to visit. Why had only Tommy come to visit?

_you're all I've got._

Dream wakes and stares at the clock. The days run unmarked in rivulets and rivers across the ever-lit walls of his cell. The silence crackles like an out of tune radio station. The _tick tick_ of the clock drums a melody in his head. He joins it with the _thump thump_ of his fists against the item frame. The clock spins like a kaleidoscope and his vision swims. Patterns swirl across monotonous obsidian walls. Like a vault door opened he whirs with glee. He matches his rhythm to the tick, pairs the turns with the hour of the day, finds obsessive relief when the clock strikes in perfect balance upon the cusp of day and night. As the clock spins and days pass hollowed by the absence of his once friends, a name comes to form in his mind, round and ticking and singing of _friend_.

_Tick tick the clock shan't lie_

' _Dreeaam-_ ' a voice whispers. ' _Oh, Dreeaaaaam-_ ' it coos like a bird. "Hello?" he whispers back, voice garbled by a mouth full of bitter earthen potato. His query is met with idle silence. The clock ticks unhurriedly upon the wall. ' _They hate you,_ ' the whisper spits. Dream chews carefully upon the skin. ' _George, Sapnap, all of your friends, they hate you._ ' "No," he whispers back, shaky, defiant. ' _Then why do they never come_?' The golden sun of the clock stares at him mockingly. His bowl of potatoes is knocked to the side as he lunges up and tears the clock from its frame. With a frenzied cry he throws it to the depths of the lava. As the gold melts and the redstone fizzles, the _tick tick_ whispers on without end.

_yet all I want,_

The realisation comes like the first April rain, clearing away drought dust and lifting oil sheens from asphalt roads: the clock goes and like _clockwork_ Sam comes. The _tick tick_ of his paces echo loud in Dream's head. His architect, his _warden_ brings gifts of a clock face shiny and new, and a human face gruff and shiny with molten-heat sweat. For the first time in a while, Dream smiles. The muscles in his cheeks ache, and ache, and _ache_. He can barely hold himself to the confines of his cell-block bars as he reaches to receive his gift; to touch, to speak, to _feel_. The lava-light halos Sam's face and the pressure of the ash thick air pushes Dream to kneel. He peppers Sam with question-kisses, and each response is a church bell ringing. His body thrums at the sound and for a brief moment he feels _alive_.

_you shall deny._

As easy as sunrise falling to sunset, he falls into rhythm: eat, sleep, watch the clock, repeat. The sunless day and moonless night are broken only by the brief but tender appearance of Sam. Sometimes he comes moody and mute to fix a new clock within his frame, but sometimes he comes warm and bright, offering gentle words of hello and indulgent questions about his day. Dream relishes in these moments, relishes in the almost-promise of touch that sears his skin from several feet away. The empty of his cell presses hot against his bones, but _Sam_ , Sam could come and soothe the ache away! He could, he could, _he could_. But day comes, day passes, and day by day Sam does not. So as a stray among torrid city streets, Dream takes whatever scraps he gets, begs silently in his corner, and greedily tosses his clock to the fire once again. _Tick tick_ burns to ashen silence and Dream waits, a hound on his heels for his master's return. He waits and waits and waits, no _tick tick_ to mark the time. Moments pass in heat-laden breaths, meld into sweat-slick dreams, morph into hollow-mouthed nightmares. The silence begins to scream. ' _Tick tick,_ ' it begins to whisper, ' _George hates you, Sapnap hates you, even Sam hates you too_.' "No," Dream mutters, knees pressed to the crook of his chest. The lie is drowned out by the _tick tick_ wail of deafening silence.

~ ~ ~

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~Don't forget to like comment and subscribe.~~  
>  For prison!dream that's a bit more substantial you can read my other prison!dream fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067366).
> 
> If you're so inclined you can also send me recs, prompts or squees at my writing blog [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sunsetwrites) or check out my main blog [here](https://unofficial-cactus.tumblr.com/). I love it when people come talk to me about au ideas or canon happenings in my asks or even just come for a casual chat.
> 
> PS. comments feed my smut-machine ;)


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